


Sometimes Sneaking Out is the Right Choice

by ObscureReference



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Father-Son Relationship, Fire, Gen, Gen or Pre-Slash, M/M, Not Really Character Death, Parental Relationships, mistaken for dead
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-24
Updated: 2021-02-24
Packaged: 2021-03-14 12:08:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29667048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ObscureReference/pseuds/ObscureReference
Summary: Several hours before Linhardt returned home to find his house ablaze, he received a phone call.The conversation that would unknowingly save his life went like this—
Relationships: Caspar von Bergliez/Linhardt von Hevring (Hinted), Hanneman von Essar & Linhardt von Hevring
Comments: 2
Kudos: 40





	Sometimes Sneaking Out is the Right Choice

**Author's Note:**

> This has been sitting in my drafts for a year now, so it's time to be rid of it now. Here you go.
> 
> I have notes about Linhardt's relationship with Hanneman & his parents, but that will be at the bottom. The Caspar/Linhardt stuff is just implied/hinted but not at all a focus. Could also be taken as just canonical levels of good friendship between them.

“Oh my,” Linhardt said hollowly.

He’d never considered just how _loud_ fire could be before. It crackled in his ears like a never-ending firework as he stared, mouth agape, at the blaze.

His house was on fire.

His house was on fire, and there were people milling about the yard—firefighters spraying hoses that didn’t seem to have much effect on the flames, police officers directing nosy neighbors to stand back, curious onlookers who appeared to be in just as much shock as him. He couldn’t see his parents among the chaos.

Linhardt’s heart seized. Where they still inside?

He wasn’t particularly close to his parents. But the idea of _anyone_ trapped in that inferno, dead from smoke inhalation or worse, skin blistered and charred in the heat—

His stomach lurched.

Amongst the shouted commands of the firefighters and the berates from the police, somebody was yelling. It was a different, panicked sort of scream that didn’t fit in with the measured commands of the emergency service workers.

Between the nausea and the way his head swam, Linhardt couldn’t find the source of the sound. He couldn’t bring his eyes to focus on anything except his burning home.

His heart pounded in his ears. The fire popped loudly as it gnawed at the wood of his childhood home.

Somebody—Hanneman, he belatedly realized—said something against the backdrop of the din. When he placed a hand on Linhardt’s shoulder, Linhardt barely felt it. His mind was already wandering back, rewinding the hours until he could figure out just what sequence of events had led to this horror.

* * *

Several hours before Linhardt returned home to find his house ablaze, he received a phone call.

The conversation that would unknowingly save his life went like this:

_Vrrt._

_Vrrt._

_Vrrt._

The buzzing of his cellphone was, regretfully, enough to jolt him out of a pleasantly empty sleep.

Linhardt resolutely ignored the sound. After a few excruciating moments, the buzzing stopped.

 _Thank the Goddess_ , he thought blearily before trying very hard not to think about anything at all. The sweet siren song of sleep called to him.

Of course, that was the moment his phone vibrated again.

And again.

And again.

He groaned into his pillow.

Ignoring the call a second time was very tempting. Any normal person would give up after the second unanswered call, he told himself.

Except, if it were Caspar calling—which he suspected it must have been, since not many people tried to call Linhardt twice in a row or even called him in the first place—then Caspar would simply call over and over until Linhardt answered.

On top of that, the longer he put it off, the longer Caspar would bug him about “taking his sweet time” picking up. Which would prevent Linhardt from going back to sleep for even longer.

In which case, there was only one reasonable course of action to take.

Ugh.

He reluctantly began to grope around the sheets for his still vibrating phone.

Thankfully, Linhardt did not accidentally knock his phone to the floor while searching. He had done that several times before when he’d been too lazy to look where he was reaching. The only thing worse than being woken in the middle of a good nap was having to get out of bed without at least an hour and a half of preparatory dozing first.

Finally, somewhere around the seventh awful ring, he found his phone. Linhardt swiped at the screen without looking and figured he had successfully answered when the ringing stopped.

Or he’d outright rejected the call. Either worked.

“Hello?” he mumbled just in case it was the former. The words were mostly muffled into his pillow, but he didn’t care to repeat them or raise his voice.

_“Linhardt! Are you busy at the moment?”_

It took a moment for Linhardt to process the fact that it wasn’t Caspar who had called.

“…Professor?”

 _“Goodness, you sound as if I’ve just woken you up,”_ Professor Hanneman said, sounding distracted. _“Aren’t people your age supposed to be out and about on a Friday night?”_

This was a conversation that required his actual participation then. Joy.

Linhardt yawned. A little louder this time, he said, “If you think I’m one of those ‘young people’ who enjoy going out and about on any given night, then I’m afraid you don’t know me at all.”

Hanneman hummed. _“I suppose that is true. In any case, I did not call to chide you about your social life. There is something I must discuss with you.”_

Linhardt grunted.

 _“Of course, you’re well within your rights to refuse. However, one of my colleagues has just submitted a paper for peer review that I believe may impact some of our current lines of research. I’ve only taken a cursory glance myself so far, but the questions it proposes are_ fascinating _. If you’d like to wait until Monday to discuss this, I completely understand, but since we were quite caught up this exact topic only yesterday, I thought it prudent to extend the invitation…”_

Hanneman said a few more things Linhardt easily tuned out. He knew where this was going.

He pulled the phone away from his face and swiped over to the home screen. Then he instantly regretted his decision. His screen was _much_ too bright for the darkness of his bedroom.

Finally, when his eyes adjusted, he was mildly surprised to see that it was just after eight in the evening. Linhardt had been asleep for approximately four hours then.

 _“…what do you say?”_ Hanneman finished. Linhardt took that as his cue to tune back in.

“Hm? Oh, yes, that sounds very intriguing,” he said vaguely.

If Hanneman deemed a subject worth study, then Linhardt was likely to agree—at least for the time being. He was simply too tired to pay the specifics of what Hanneman had said much mind. Not until he could manage to crawl out of bed, at least.

_“Excellent! I can send an email with an attachment to your address immediately then.”_

Linhardt yawned. He didn’t like the idea of squinted at a bright screen in a dark room. Or staying on the phone any longer than absolutely necessary. “It’s easier to discuss this in person rather than over the phone, you know. Are you still at your lab? I can meet you there soon.”

Hanneman made a sound not unlike a squawk. _“I know all of my students think I live in the lab, but I thought at least you were above such childish thoughts!”_

“I’m not making fun of you,” he said, mildly confused.

Hanneman grumbled a complaint. He must have been used to Linhardt by now, however, because, sounding somewhat more sated, he clarified, _“It’s the weekend, my boy. Even_ I _have returned home by now.”_

Ah.

“Right.”

Specific days of the week did not tend to sway Linhardt’s behavior much, but he’d slowly come to learn that most other people tended to operate on schedules not dictated by their daily whims. There had been many times Linhardt hadn’t bothered to go home until Caspar dragged him away from whatever he was studying, and he’d instinctively assumed an avid researcher like Hanneman functioned the same way.

 _“You’re still welcome to come, of course,”_ Hanneman continued. _“But I don’t want to impose on your plans for the evening. Or your parent’s plans, if they had any.”_

“It’s fine,” Linhardt said, finally mustering up the energy to sit up. He carelessly swiped some of the drool from his chin. “My parents won’t mind. Anyway, I hope your house is warmer than the lab. I don’t particularly want to spend the evening in a freezer.”

He had a vague memory of where Hanneman lived. None of the bus routes Linhardt were mentally calculating dropped riders off anywhere close to that area, however, so he’d probably have to bother Caspar into giving him a ride over—assuming Caspar’s older brother hadn’t taken his and Caspar’s shared car to do whatever piggish behavior he enjoyed indulging in on the weekends.

Had there been a football game tonight? No, Caspar had given him a ride home directly after school. Unless he’d gone back afterwards, and Linhardt had simply forgotten? His mind was much too hazy to remember that sort of thing at the moment.

 _“I can assure you that you won’t freeze,”_ Hanneman said, sounding amused. “ _In any case, I’m currently in my car. I had to step out for a few last-minute items that damned Manuela stole from me the last time she visited and will be returning home shortly. Do you need a ride?”_

“That would be convenient,” he said. He wasn’t going to touch that Manuela comment with a ten-foot pole. He didn’t have all night to waste listening to Hanneman bluster.

_“Excellent. If my memory serves me right, I believe I will be at your house shortly then. Meet me outside in, say, fifteen minutes?”_

“Understood.”

They hung up. Linhardt barely remembered to check his phone for other messages before tossing it aside.

He’d received a message from Edelgard reminding him about a report due next week, which he pointedly ignored. There was another message from Dorothea asking if he’d like to go for boba tea tomorrow. Linhardt was not much of a planner. He texted Dorothea to ask him again tomorrow to see if he was still in the mood tomorrow afternoon. She sent back a thumbs up immediately.

The third message was from Caspar. The text contained a blurry picture taken from what appeared to be the men’s locker room at school. Caspar could never stand still long enough to take a clear picture, of course. Linhardt mentally rolled his eyes, feeling a bit fond despite himself.

The focus of the picture was Caspar’s football uniform, which he had tossed over the open locker door. Caspar’s shadow loomed over most of the uniform.

 _Wish me luck!!_ the caption read.

So there had likely been a game tonight after all. Linhardt glanced at the time the message had been sent and was unsurprised to find it several hours old. Oh well.

He sent a text asking if Caspar won and tossed his phone aside without waiting for a reply. Whether celebrating a victory or finishing up the game, it would likely be a while before Caspar responded.

The temptation to lay back down was strong; his sheets were inviting and the mattress still mostly warm. Hanneman was already on his way, though, and Caspar wasn’t here to shake Linhardt awake if he accidentally dozed off for too long.

So he reluctantly threw his legs over the side of the bed and stood up in search of a hair tie. He probably wasn’t going to bother changing clothes before Hanneman arrived. The professor had seen him in worse than a rumpled button-up cardigan and baggy pants before.

Of course, Hanneman was _a_ professor but not technically _Linhardt’s_ professor. Not in the university enrollment sense, anyway.

At sixteen, Linhardt was still a sophomore in high school, although he probably could have graduated by now if he really wanted. His father had pointedly asked him more than once to consider skipping a few grades—he was more than capable of it, they both knew—but between how many zeros dotted his report cards from all the missing assignments Linhardt simply hadn’t felt like completing and the many times he’d conveniently “forgotten” to speak to a councilor on the matter, it seemed he would be staying with his peers for a while longer.

Which was more than fine by him. Sleeping through classes and idling the days away with Caspar was more than enough for now. Even the occasional visits over to Garreg Mach university one town over—visits that had grown more frequent as of late—were more than enough to spice up the mundanity of daily life. Hanneman’s research was fascinating, and Linhardt planned on focusing on that for a while. Not whatever required courses a university would require he focus on instead.

His father had reminded him again and again that he could have been taking university-leveled courses at the high school too. That he could be earning college credit now, so he wouldn’t have to worry about some of those “required classes” later.

Simply put, Linhardt simply had no interest in preparing for the future. Taking additional or harder classes now, in high school, meant more work on his plate. Which was obnoxious and therefore unnecessary.

It had been an argument more than once in his household. If one could call letting his mind drift away while his father calmly lectured him over dinner for the hundredth time to be an argument, anyway. Linhardt envied his mother’s ability to excuse herself from the room to play with the cat when that happened.

Had his parents known he was completing side projects with a published researcher rather than lazing about at a park—or wherever they thought he went when they weren’t around—they likely would have been delighted.

Which looked good on paper, yes, but if his parents were happy with his “progress” or thought he had gained some sense of motivation, they would quickly come to have _more_ unwanted expectations of him.

No, it was much better they keep their expectations as low as could be carefully cultivated for now.

There would come a day when Linhardt would have to step into his father’s shoes like he was expected to. He had no siblings, after all, and his parents were already several years older than many of the other parents in Linhardt’s social circle. They were not getting any younger, and he was sadly reaching adulthood rather quickly. That dreaded time would come soon enough.

But not any sooner than necessary.

* * *

Feeling slightly more refreshed after having splashed some water on his face and brushed his teeth, Linhardt made his way downstairs. He was unsurprised to find the first floor just as dark and quiet as his bedroom. Clearly his parents hadn’t returned home yet. They were likely at yet another business dinner that Linhardt had been exempt from attending so he wouldn’t embarrass them.

Convenient, he thought. His parent’s absence saved him the trouble of making up an excuse about where he was going.

Their absence didn’t mean he was entirely alone in the house, however.

“Meow,” said Josephine, the fluffy cat his mother doted on as if she were more precious than life itself. She lightly pawed at Linhardt’s ankle for attention.

Sighing, Linhardt bent down and picked her up. Josephine went happily limp in his arms, purring.

He absently scratched her behind the ears while walking over to the windowsill. Josephine’s fur was devastatingly soft. It was no wonder his mother carried her around so often; Linhardt could have made a dozen pillows out of her fur.

“What are you complaining about?” he asked when he found Josephine’s bowl in the window still mostly full. “You have food.”

“Mrr,” said Josephine.

Josephine graciously allowed herself to be plopped down next to her food. She stayed upright for approximately two seconds before flopping onto her side, as though her legs had suddenly turned to mush.

She up at Linhardt with wide, stupid eyes.

“Thank you for the offer, but no,” he told her. “I don’t have time to play with you right now.”

Her tail twitched with anticipation. Linhardt stared at her, unphased.

“Meow,” Josephine said mournfully.

Sighing, he rewarded Josephine’s determination by stroking her back with his hand. The cat responded to this by purring even louder.

In truth, Linhardt envied Josephine. She lived the ideal life. It consisted of nothing but consistent sleep, good food, and zero responsibility.

Truly, a life of luxury.

He left Josephine to her own devices and gave the kitchen one last look around to make sure he hadn’t left any forgotten experiments out for his parents to question him on later. Thankfully, there weren’t any.

Not many items belonging to his parents had been left out either. Linhardt could only spot a few unlit candles his mother kept dotted around the house and some unfinished paperwork on the dining room table, where his father had used one of the candles as a paperweight. Several scattered papers also lay on the floor from where Josephine had likely knocked them off the table some time earlier.

None of that was of interest to Linhardt, so he walked out the front door.

Next door, some yards away, the von Bergliez porch lights were lit, though the rest of the house was dark. Linhardt couldn’t see any cars sitting in the driveway either.

He didn’t care to wonder where the elder von Bergliez members had gone. Caspar was probably still occupied by the football match at the school, and he was the only person Linhardt ever concerned himself with.

He sat on his own porch to wait.

Waiting quickly grew boring, so he reached into his pocket to see if Caspar had responded to his text yet and blinked in surprise when his hands came up empty.

Hm. Apparently, he’d forgotten his phone in his room.

No matter. The thought of trudging all the way back upstairs just to come back down was unappealing, so he considered it a negligible loss. The phone would be waiting for him when he returned.

Several minutes later, the honking of a car horn jolted him awake.

“Linhardt!” The bleary figure of Hanneman called to him from his car window. “Are you alright?”

Linhardt tiredly rose to his feet and rubbed the grit out of his eye. “I’m all right, professor. Just taking a quick nap.”

“So soon?” Hanneman said as Linhardt wandered over to the passenger side door of his car. “If you’re truly that exhausted, this can more than wait until tomorrow...”

“No, no.” Linhardt yawned, sliding into the passenger seat. “I just needed a quick recharge.”

“I expect you to be full of vigor for our discussion then,” Hanneman said, nodding to himself. “Now, it will be a few moments before we arrive at my home, but the papers are already sitting on my dashboard if you’d like to give them a cursory look before we get there. If you’re the type to get carsick, however—"

Linhardt was already reaching for the papers.

* * *

Several hours later, Linhardt was wide away, although the clock neared midnight. His mind was racing with newfound possibility.

“Again, I am terribly sorry to have kept you out so late,” Hanneman repeated, sounding not very regretful at all. He looked just as excited as Linhardt felt, if the tapping of his fingers against the steering wheel was anything to go by. The conversation had rarely lulled since they had finished going through the documents. “It seems we both got a bit carried away there.”

“It’s not like I have to be up early tomorrow,” he pointed out. “This has been much more exciting than my original agenda of sleeping through the evening anyway.”

Hanneman laughed like Linhardt had told a joke. “A fair enough assessment! In that case, I’m glad I called you. The conversation tonight has been riveting. There are so many things I want to ask my colleague about tomorrow. Oh, I should write this down somewhere…”

“We did,” Linhardt reminded him. “On the back of those delivery boxes.”

“Doubly right.” Hanneman nodded to himself. “I need to remember not to toss those out without copying our notes down first. I might even send out some emails tonight.”

Linhardt nodded, already thinking about what new topics they could be discussing by Monday.

“Ah, but enough about that,” Hanneman said, shaking his head. The stoplight above them turned green, and he resumed his drive. “Even scholars like ourselves can benefit from some respite. Let’s not tire ourselves out too quickly. Tell me, what are your plans for the weekend?”

That was an abrupt change of subject, but Linhardt was only a little taken aback. Both he and Hanneman often jumped from one train of thought to the next so quickly that they were used to each other by this point.

“Nothing in particular,” he said. “I’ll sleep, probably. I may or may not see a friend tomorrow. No doubt I’ll see Caspar at some point.”

“Caspar, yes.” Hanneman nodded to himself. Caspar was the only friend of Linhardt’s that Hanneman knew by name—not that Linhardt had many. Caspar dropped him off at the university from time to time, and Hanneman had briefly met him a few times due to that arrangement. “His enthusiasm is inspiring, isn’t it? He’s always appeared very sure of what he wants to do with himself. And what of your own plans for the future?”

Ah. This subject again.

Linhardt sank into his seat, shoulders dropping.

“I haven’t particularly thought about it since the last time you asked me,” he grumbled. His enthusiasm was quickly leaving.

“Completely understandable,” Hanneman said politely, keeping his eyes on the road. “However, I would feel remiss if I did not encourage you once again to consider the value in higher education. You have a _very_ bright mind, Linhardt, and it would be a shame if it went to waste.”

“I wouldn’t consider sating personal interest a waste.”

“And it very much isn’t!” Hanneman agreed. “Personal interest and goals are so often the driving force behind research! However, so many more opportunities would open themselves to you with the support of an accredited—"

“And I will continue to take your advice under consideration,” he sighed. Faking intrigue to end the conversation faster wouldn’t work, so he didn’t bother. He and Hanneman had discussed this subject several times before, and Linhardt was trapped in the car for the moment anyway. “But to reiterate, I don’t have any goal I’m seeking to achieve at the moment. Working with you simply sates my curiosity for the moment.”

“Ah, but goals can sometimes reveal themselves without warning as well! You might—oh dear.”

“Ah,” Linhardt echoed.

They had just turned onto Linhardt’s street. It looked significantly brighter than it had just a few hours ago, for reasons both of them immediately spotted.

“Oh, dear,” Hanneman said, slowing the car and sending Linhardt a concerned glance. “That… wouldn’t happen to be _your_ house, would it?”

“So it would seem,” Linhardt said flatly. His voice sounded distant to his own ears, but in truth, his heart had begun to beat rapidly in his chest.

The car came to a stop. Linhardt stared through the front windshield, a little numb.

His house was completely engulfed in flame. The windows were alight with the orange glow of fire, and the roar of it was audible even from inside the car. Fire licked the outer frames of at least two of the second-story windows.

Without thinking, Linhardt unbuckled his seatbelt with shaking hands and climbed out of the car. In his periphery, he could see Hanneman doing the same.

They weren’t the only ones watching the fire from the street. The front yard was alight with blue and red from the police cars and fire trucks parked out front. Several firefighters were firing jets of water at the house with large hoses. Police officers milled about the yard, shooing curious and horrified bystanders away. Their mouths moved, but Linhardt couldn’t hear anything being said. He was too focused on the inferno that had become his house.

His parents hadn’t been home when he’d left, but it had been hours since then.

Were they—

Fear-stricken, he couldn’t finish the thought. He felt very, very close to being physically ill.

“Linhardt.” Hanneman seized his arm, jolting him back to reality. “Look. Are those your parents out front?”

It took a second for Linhardt to follow the line of his finger and spot them.

 _There_. His parents—the only non-official looking figures who hadn’t been pushed back to the street to watch with the neighbors. Their backs were turned to Linhardt, but he recognized their tall, thin silhouettes well enough. A sympathetic-looking police officer was talking to them and jotting notes down on a pad.

And if he wasn’t mistaken, the lump of fur twisting in his mother’s arms was Josephine the cat as well.

“Yes,” he breathed, relaxing marginally. The pressure in his chest began to lessen. “That’s them.”

Linhardt wasn’t particularly close to his parents, but he didn’t want them to _die_. The idea of anyone, even someone he wasn’t particularly close to, trapped within a burning building, unable to escape as the flames grew higher and the smoke thicker—

“I—I should…”

He could barely get his mouth to work. His mind continued to race.

All his notes were surely destroyed by now, he thought dully. Months of research that Linhardt was never going to get back. Bookmarked articles on his laptop that were going to be a hassle and a half to find again. Not to mention everything else—

Linhardt’s ears popped, and the roar of fire in his ears faded just enough for him to notice something else. Like the struggle happening just outside the charred front door.

Someone was shouting. Wildly, like their life depended on it. The shouts were originating from a group of officers clustered near the front of the house, circling someone Linhardt couldn’t see. He had no idea what to make of the scene, nor could he see past the broad backs of so many uniformed servicemen.

He could see Hanneman looking at him from the corner of his eye.

“You should go to them,” Hanneman said calmly.

It took only the slightest bit of pressure to force Linhardt to stumble forward. Literally.

Thankfully, Hanneman was still holding onto his arm. His grip kept Linhardt from falling flat on his face in shock.

“Thank you,” he murmured on autopilot.

“It’s alright,” Hanneman said calmly. Probably trying to be comforting. “Everything’s going to be alright. Your parents are hale and whole.”

Yes. His parents.

Except—

Linhardt blinked as the shouting reached a crescendo. He felt as though he’d been jolted out of a stupor of some kind, and he instinctively turned his head at the sound.

Something about that loud voice was familiar.

“Linhardt?” Hanneman said when Linhardt stopped walking. They were halfway across the lawn by now, but among the curious neighbors and the chaos, no one had taken notice of them yet.

“Wait,” he said absently, craning his neck.

There was still too much going on near the front door to see anything properly. Between sound of the fire and the way the neighbors were muttering observations to one another, it was hard to take in every detail.

But that voice—

“Let go! Get off me!” somebody shouted. Had been shouting for the last minute, apparently. “ _Get off!_ You can’t leave him in there!”

“You _cannot_ go in there,” one of the officers barked. “Damn it, kid! Stop struggling!”

“How many men does it take to pin down one high schooler?” another snapped.

 _“Fuck you!”_ Caspar roared.

And that _was_ Caspar, Linhardt belatedly realized, watching a blur of blue miraculously struggle out of the grip of three grown men, only to be caught again before he could make it two more inches towards the door. He twisted in their grasp like a feral thing.

Caspar roared, “ _Linhardt_ is in there! Are you just going to let him—”

One police officer caught Caspar by the bicep and wrenched him back. “I’m _sorry_ , but it is too late—"

“It’s not!” Caspar shouted, but there was tinge of hopelessness amongst the rage. “It’s not! I—He might…”

Caspar briefly faltered. The officers took the opportunity to drag him as far away from the door as they could. He squirmed in their grasp, his heels dragging in the grass as they pulled him away.

“Caspar?” Linhardt said.

His voice was rather quiet. Between the noise of the chaos and the distance between them, he had no idea how Caspar heard him.

But the moment the name left his lips, Caspar’s head shot up in his direction. His mouth fell open when he saw Linhardt standing on the curb.

 _“Linhardt?”_ he screeched.

Linhardt winced. Heads turned. There wasn’t any time to take in anyone else’s reactions, however—nor did Linhardt suddenly want to focus on anything else but the sight of Caspar shrugging out of the surprised officer’s grasp and sprinting towards him. He tackled Linhardt with such force that they both fell into the grass.

“Ow!” Linhardt said reflexively. His elbows smarted from the impact. “Caspar—”

“You’re alive!” Caspar shouted in his ear. He practically crushed Linhardt’s ribs with the strength of his hug; Linhardt swore he heard something internal crack. “ _How_ are you alive? Where were you? Why didn’t you take your phone?”

Ah. Linhardt had forgotten about his phone. That explained why nobody realized he wasn’t home.

Between the late hour and the fact that, if Caspar had checked the shared location app on his phone, Linhardt would have appeared to still be in his bedroom, his reaction made a lot of sense.

Speaking of which—

“Caspar,” he wheezed. “I can’t breathe.”

“Serves you right, you jerk!” Caspar said loudly. The pressure on Linhardt’s chest let up only a little as Caspar sat up. He released Linhardt from the hug so he could straddle Linhardt’s waist instead. Although Linhardt had easily a foot on him, Caspar felt more like a stocky boulder than a teen sitting on top of him. “Now, answer me! Where have you been? Are you alright?”

“Shouldn’t I be asking _you_ that?” Linhardt asked dryly. It would have been difficult to sit up with Caspar pushing at his shoulders like that, so he didn’t bother to try. “You were the one with the terrible plan to go running into a burning building. Didn’t your parents ever teach you basic safety skills?”

“You—" Caspar groaned. “Damn it. I thought you were trapped in there!”

“What a terrible plan,” Linhardt said.

Caspar threw his hands up in frustration. “What else was I supposed to do?”

“Not run into a burning building, probably.”

“Lin—”

The banter felt familiar. Calming. Despite the inferno blazing only a few yards away, Linhardt felt himself relax as Caspar responded to his dull barbs with an ire he knew so well.

Then Caspar cut himself off, sniffing loudly, and Linhardt realized with dawning horror that Caspar’s eyes were red-rimmed.

Oh, no.

“I can’t comfort you,” Linhardt blurted. He meant _I don’t know how_ more than _I physically do not possess the capability of offering you comfort_ , but they basically meant the same thing anyway.

Caspar sniffed again, even louder. Eyes watery, he said, “Comfort _me_? You’re the one whose house is burning down!”

“Ah.”

Fair point.

That was so like Caspar—pointing out the obvious even in the face of his own anguish. Linhardt couldn’t help but stare, somewhat amazed.

Caspar scrubbed his hand across his eyes and stared back. Neither of them said anything.

For a moment, Linhardt forgot they were surrounded by people and chaos and other undesirable things. He focused on the feeling of Caspar fisting at his shirt.

Then Hanneman crouched by Linhardt’s head and laid a hand on Caspar’s shoulder, grabbing both of their attentions.

“I hate to interrupt,” said the professor, “but I do believe there are some people Linhardt needs to speak to about this incident. I’m sure his parents are just as relieved to see him as you are, young man.”

Linhardt rolled his head to the side. Grass tickled his nose as he spotted his mother, pale, holding Josephine and standing next to a very interested-looking officer.

His father, on the other hand, was currently marching over to them. It was hard to name the expression on his face; Linhardt instinctively didn’t like it.

He grimaced. His parents could see he was just fine, couldn’t they? There was no need to _talk_.

“Oh!” Caspar scrambled to his feet. “Right!”

Linhardt turned his frown towards Caspar next. It lessened when Caspar yanked him to his feet in one smooth move.

Hanneman flashed him a strained smile just as Linhardt’s father reached them.

“You!” Linhardt’s father said gruffly, pointing at Hanneman. Of course shouting was too undignified for a man like him, Linhardt thought wryly. At least Linhardt’s eardrums didn’t need to be tortured any further. “What are you doing with my son?”

“I’m fine, thank you for asking,” said Linhardt. “How are you, father?”

A conflicted mix of emotions flashed across his father’s usually cool features. Linhardt was almost impressed by the range.

“Linhardt, come here,” his father said in lieu of chiding him for the sarcasm. He pulled Linhardt away from Caspar and Hanneman, ignoring Linhardt’s unhappy grunt. “Where have you been all night? Your mother and I have been worried sick!”

“I’ve been out, obviously.”

“Ugh! Lin!” Caspar chided. “Just tell him already!”

He sounded curious as well.

Hanneman raised his hands placatingly. “Now, now. I’m sure emotions are high for everyone at the moment—”

Linhardt’s father whirled on him once more. “You still haven’t explained just what you were doing with my _underage_ child at this time of night.”

Linhardt raised his eyebrows while Hanneman bristled at the implication.

“I don’t know _what_ you’re implying,” Hanneman said briskly, suddenly much less understanding, “but I can assure you, sir, that everything Linhardt and I have done tonight has been in the pursuit of science.”

 _“Science?”_ his father said with audible disbelief.

Linhardt sighed. So they were doing this. “Dr. Hanneman, this is my father. Father, this is Dr. Hanneman, a quantum physics professor at Garreg Mach. I’ve been attending his classes and doing various projects with him for the last few months.”

Hanneman looked at him with an interesting mixture of annoyance and surprise.

“You didn’t tell your parents about that?” Hanneman said. “I _never_ would have asked you to go anywhere if I hadn’t known your parents weren’t aware—”

“Obviously, that’s why I never told you,” said Linhardt.

“You’ve been attending university classes for _months_ without telling us?” his father cut in. The strange expression on his face had turned even stranger. He was probably surprised that Linhardt had taken the initiative to hide something from him in the first place. “You’re earning college credit?”

“Not technically,” Hanneman said, about to completely ruin the last dregs of Linhardt’s lie of omission. “Your son has not been attending my classes so much as helping to conduct them. Why, the publications we’ve been discussing have been—"

His father blinked hard. “ _Publications_? What—”

Hanneman sent Linhardt an even more incredulous look. Linhardt pretended not to see it.

Instead, he looked at Caspar, who made a face that could only be described as “ _yikes_.”

He had never approved of Linhardt refusing to mention his work with Hanneman to his parents—it felt too much like lying, he’d said—but Caspar was clearly sympathetic to the truth coming out like this.

Linhardt grimaced back.

His father grabbed his attention. “Why didn’t you ever mention this before?”

“It didn’t come up,” Linhardt lied.

His father clearly didn’t believe that, but after a brief moment, he shook his head and let it drop.

“You are… in an incredible amount of trouble,” he sighed. Then he looked at their home burning to ashes over his shoulder. With an even greater sigh, he asked, “How did this even happen?”

A rhetorical question, most likely. His father did not say anything further. However, the way he eyed Linhardt made it clear that he was wondering if perhaps his lazy, liar of a son had brought this misfortune upon them somehow. Perhaps by leaving a strange experiment unattended. That seemed like something his father would assume he’d do.

Linhardt thought of the numerous half-burnt candles lining every available inch of the first floor of their house. He looked across the yard.

From his mother’s arms, Josephine meowed innocently.

“I haven’t been home for hours,” Linhardt said. “On that note, did it ever occur to you or Mother that leaving lit candles unattended after you’ve gone to bed when there is a furry creature that likes to swat at things is a bad idea?”

His father gave him a very tired look.

* * *

Because apparently the universe decided that watching his house burn down was not punishment enough, Linhardt proceeded to be lectured for another twenty minutes—ten minutes of lecture from his father about sneaking out and his future and how this was his fault somehow, and then another ten minutes of lecture from Hanneman, presumably about responsibility and lies of omission.

Or so he assumed those were the topics. Truth be told, he tuned both of them out after the first five seconds. 

Eventually, his father cut himself off mid-sentence, looking as though he’d swallowed something sour.

Linhardt raised a brow in mild interest.

Shockingly, his father placed a hand on Linhardt’s shoulder and _squeezed_.

If Linhardt hadn’t known better, he would have said it was almost affectionate _._ It was the closest thing to a hug he’d received from either parents in a long while.

“Linhardt,” his father said, and then said nothing else.

A long beat passed. Linhardt glanced over at Caspar, who had tiredly sat down on the porch of his own home some fifteen minutes ago when the adrenaline had given out. Caspar did not look his way.

“Linhardt,” his father said again.

Linhardt looked back. “Yes?”

“Just—” His father pursed his lips. A long moment passed. “Apologize to your mother when she comes over, will you?”

Linhardt’s mother, once she had gotten over the shock of her son’s reappearance and finished up her talk with the officer, had been taken into the back of an ambulance. The ambulance did not appear to be leaving anytime soon and the back doors were still open, so Linhardt assumed she had been taken away for shock. Or perhaps she wanted Josephine to receive oxygen.

In any case, she didn’t seem to be that worried for him.

“Why?” Linhardt asked. “I haven’t done anything wrong.”

“Just. Do it.”

Linhardt frowned but didn’t protest. It was easier not to argue.

His father shook his head and made his way over to his mother’s ambulance.

Feeling rooted to the spot, Linhardt watched him go. Then he watched as firefighters continued to spray his burning house with their hoses. The fire had obviously won the war against the wood, but at least the blaze seemed to be dying down, somewhat.

All of Linhardt’s personal belongings were less than ashes now. He had no clothes. No laptop. No books. His childhood home was literally going up in smoke in front of him.

Somehow, however, spending a full twenty minutes being lectured in front of a burning building had made the situation feel much more mundane than it truly was. Especially now that he knew no one had died and that the fire, though certainly going to run its course, was probably not going to catch the rest of the neighboring homes on fire.

Probably.

It would be an incredible bother to replace all that he’d lost. But his family wasn’t exactly poor, so he _would_ build his personal library back up again, sooner rather than later. They’d find somewhere new to live relatively soon too, assuming neither of his parents wanted to move to one of their other properties outside the city for the time being. Anything else he needed in the meantime, he could probably borrow from Caspar. It wasn’t the end of the world like he’d initially feared.

A few moments after his father’s disappearance, Hanneman reappeared. He looked at the burning home with much more emotion than Linhardt personally felt.

Now that he knew everyone was alive, he didn’t know what measure of feeling he was meant to have about this disaster. He felt annoyed that this had happened in the first place, yes. Relieved to know the thought of his parents and cat burning alive in their beds, assuredly.

But he wasn’t sad, he thought. Not in the way Hanneman looked sad.

“I’m sorry that this has happened, my boy,” sighed Hanneman. “I can’t imagine what you must be feeling right now.”

“It’s alright,” Linhardt said. “It’s not like anyone died.”

Hanneman studied him.

“That’s right,” he said slowly. “And what a relief that is, hm?”

“Right.”

Linhardt really wanted to go to bed already. The smell of smoke was starting to irritate his nose. Even if he threw himself onto Caspar’s bed, however, he probably wouldn’t be able to sleep until the fire was put out.

Though, thankfully, the firemen seemed to have the situation under control now. So maybe he’d get to rest _sometime_ in the early hours.

Hanneman laid his hands on Linhardt’s shoulders, much like Linhardt’s father had done. “Do be more careful with your own well-being, my boy. I don’t know what I would have done if you’d actual been in serious danger up there. I’m upset that you were not honest with your parents and put me in the position of being an accessory to your lying and sneaking out, but if the alternative means you would have been asleep in your bed rather than safe and sound with me when the fire started—”

Hanneman paused. He cleared his throat.

“Well, I’m glad that things turned out the way they did.”

In another reality where Linhardt hadn’t lied by omission, he could have burned to death for real. Wasn’t that a thought?

“You would have found a new apprentice eventually,” Linhardt pointed out, not wanting to dwell on the thought.

Hanneman squeezed his shoulders again, more forceful this time. Linhardt blinked in surprise.

“I am not only speaking of the scientific loss,” Hanneman said, “though that would be quite the blow as well. No, from a personal standpoint, I mean…”

Linhardt stared at Hanneman, a bit dumbstruck, as the older man solemnly inclined his head towards him.

“Well, let’s just say I’m glad you’re safe and sound.”

A bit touched, Linhardt found himself at a loss for words. “Oh. Thank you.”

Apparently that small acknowledgement was enough for Hanneman because he nodded, dropped Linhardt’s shoulders, and took a big step back. “Right. Well, I won’t hold you up any longer. I’m sure your mother wants to speak to you now, and you must be getting tired. Unless you need me to stay?”

He probably would have stayed, if Linhardt asked. But that wasn’t necessary.

“I’m fine,” Linhardt said. “Caspar is still here.”

He waved to Caspar, who apparently had been waiting for his cue, as he leapt up from the porch bench and began strolling over to where Linhardt stood on the curb.

“Caspar, right.” Hanneman made a considering sound. “That’s a good friend you have there. He’s very brave. Not everyone would run into a burning building to save a loved one like that.”

The reminder of Caspar trying to kill himself a few minutes before made Linhardt scowl. “ _I_ certainly wouldn’t. What’s the point in us both dying if at least one of us could have lived?”

“But what if you’d been trapped on the second floor, unable to leave? He was the only one willing to rescue you.”

“But I wasn’t trapped,” said Linhardt. “And I would have been done for, in that case. So his attempted rescue would have been pointless, and he would have died for no reason.”

He felt a bit sick at the thought, but that was the answer, plain and simple. Had Linhardt shown up just a bit later, Caspar might have met a different fate tonight.

It was a sobering thought.

“Is that so?” Hanneman mused.

He didn’t say anything more, but something about his tone made Linhardt avert his eyes.

A beat passed. Caspar was nearly upon them.

Linhardt felt something in his chest unclench.

“But you’re right in one regard,” he amended with a huff. “Caspar is one of a kind.”

Hanneman made another knowing sound and glanced at Linhardt out of the corner of his eye, like he was privy to some secret. Linhardt looked back at him questioningly.

In lieu of a real answer, Hanneman said, “Goodnight, Linhardt. Send me an e-mail when you’re ready to visit the school again or if you need anything from me at all, even if that’s just a willing ear. And let me know in the morning how your family is faring.”

“We’ll be fine,” he said, but Hanneman just repeated himself and then walked over to his car.

Caspar finally reached him. “Hey, what’s up? Where’s your mentor guy going?”

“Home.” Linhardt looked up at the smoky sky. “It’s gotten so late that it’s now tomorrow, Caspar.”

Caspar cocked his head. “It can’t be tomorrow. It’s always today.”

He felt his lips twitch. “Fair enough.”

“Hey, do you want to sleep at my house tonight?” Caspar predictably offered. “Mom and Dad went out of town last minute, so only my bro is home, but none of them will care if you’re there for a night. Or three. Or…” He surreptitiously glanced at Linhardt’s home and made a face. “…however long you might need.”

“Please,” said Linhardt. He could feel the grit of fallen ash on his skin. “I would love to make use of your shower as soon as possible as well.”

“Of course! But, uh, you’ll probably have to wait for those emergency guys to give us the all clear. I don’t think they’ll let us go inside while a fire is burning next door.”

What a headache. “Fine.”

“And don’t those police guys have to interview you too? To, like, cross out the possibility that this was arson or something?”

Humming, Linhardt cast a glance the police officers’ way. Several of them were giving him curious or annoyed stares, but his father held their attention for now. They probably wouldn’t be held off for much longer, however.

“Meh.”

Caspar sighed, put-upon. “Man, you really are something else. And don’t think I forgot about the fact you made us all think you were dead for a minute there! You nearly gave me a heart attack!”

He did look very stressed and sweaty.

“Oh, that reminds me,” Linhardt said. “How did your football match go?”

Caspar stared at him. Stared and stared and stared, until Linhardt felt himself grow annoyed.

He opened his mouth to say _fine, don’t tell me if you don’t want_ , but Caspar beat him to the punch.

“ _Linhardt_!” he screeched, blowing out Linhardt’s eardrums. He sounded pleased and annoyed and many other things at once. Linhardt wasn’t one to decipher that level of intense emotion.

He did scowl at the noise, however. “What? What did I do?”

Caspar threw himself at him, and Linhardt went tumbling to the ground for the second time that night, arms tight around his neck.

“Ouch! Caspar!”

“You’re the worst!” Caspar groused, but he was smiling, his nose pressed against Linhardt’s collarbone. “I really, really hate you. Don’t ever scare me like that again!”

“Scare you about what? Football?”

Caspar groaned in frustration and buried his face against his chest.

Staring up at the smoky night sky, Linhardt huffed. The crackle of a dying fire echoed in his ears. “Fine. If I can’t shower and you won’t answer me, then I’ll just go to asleep here then.”

Caspar grumbled something incomprehensible. Linhardt closed his eyes and ignored the somewhat soothing weight of his best friend on his chest, making absolutely no effort to get up. True to his word, he intended to sleep here on the lawn.

At least until he had to give his statement.

**Author's Note:**

> This fic happened because I like Hanneman and Linhardt as colleagues in canon, but I also have a lot of feelings about what if Hanneman had developed some parental/older sibling feelings over Linhardt while they bonded for their pursuit of discovery too. Which Linhardt would absolutely hate if he were aware of it, I think? Or at least he wouldn't know what to do with that information. Confused and disinterested at best, probably. Which is why he's unaware that Hanneman cares about him in any kind of way other than the way you care about a fellow work colleague who is maybe also a friend. He takes Hanneman's concern as friendship concern at the end, while Hanneman is looking at Linhardt the way any mid-50s adult should probably look at the 16 year old they work closely with and are trying to nurture. Linhardt's misunderstanding of this ties into—
> 
> In my mind, Linhardt's parents aren't intentionally cruel jerks. I've seen a lot of fic that makes it clear Linhardt isn't loved at home and his parents don't care about his wants/needs, but I've always been more interested in the slightly less black-and-white idea that his parents _do_ care but they're not expressive people and they don't show physical affection very well. And since Linhardt's natural personality is at odds with their expectations/what they hope he will do so he will live a long, happy, respectable life, they don't have a lot of verbal praise directly to his face either. It doesn't occur to them that this is maybe Bad Parenting, and Linhardt, after years of this and his own natural inclinations, doesn't think to ask for it or question his relationship with them either. He's taken their actions at face value and doesn't think about whether his assumptions about their feelings towards him are right very much. If this fic were from their POV, it'd look way different. 
> 
> (Which doesn't make them good people, necessarily. It just means they're not as black and white evil as I often see them painted. Isn't it more interesting if they love their son and are trying to raise Linhardt, their only child whom they can't relate to and don't understand, as best they can _and_ they're not good at it? That they live in a home not necessarily Entirely Absent of Love but absolutely lacking in communication and understanding, and so that love goes largely unrecognized on both fronts? I want to explore that more than just "his parents are greedy and don't think about him at all," but maybe it's just me.)
> 
> Also, Hanneman definitely was giving Linhardt _The Look_ at the end that was meant to establish that he thinks Caspar and Linhardt will get together later in life. But again, he could be wrong and that could be a friendship thing if you want.
> 
> Anyway, glad I don't have this in my drafts anymore. Do with this what you will. 
> 
> Feel free to leave a comment below or hit me up on my [tumblr!](http://someobscurereference.tumblr.com/)


End file.
